But if you close your eyes
by A fool who thinks they're wise
Summary: Spoilers for series 4 episode 1&2. Merlin convinces the knights and Arthur to let him continue to the isle of the Blessed, in order to sacrifice himself for Arthur and Albion. Pre-slash.


Oh Dear.  
Yes, yes I know, _Change, _don't worry, the next chapter is on it's way.  
I haven't given up on it, nor do I intend to. I hate leaving stories unfinished,  
and besides, characters deserve a happy ending, don't they? Or, at the very least, an ending.  
But I did need to get this story out of my system before I could focus on Change.  
It's my first Merthur, so I apologize if it's terrible, and then I further apologize, because this  
is just one of the two Canon-divergent episode oneshots that I'm planning on writing. They will happen in  
the same universe, so anything not-explained in this fic will come to light in the other.  
However, before that, the next chapter of Change has to come.  
And I have to pass Chemistry in Summer School.  
So baby steps.  
Spoilers for Series 4 episode 1&2  
This is basically The Darkest Hour Pt 2, but with the idea that Merlin stayed with them after the Dorocha,  
managing to convince everyone to let him sacrifice himself for Arthur. Because Merlin is Merlin, and sacrificing himself  
for Arthur is basically his life's work. Pre-slash.

The title is taken from the song Pompeii by Bastille, which I was listening to while I made this.  
also, LeTildaChannel made a beautiful Merthur video to the song, which I would recommend watching.  
**I don't own Merlin, or any of the characters, those belong to the BBC**

So, without further ado, enjoy!

* * *

Let me not to the marriage of true minds  
Admit impediments. Love is not love  
Which alters when it alteration finds,  
Or bends with the remover to remove.  
O, no! it is an ever fixed mark  
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;  
It is the star to every wand'ring bark,  
Whose worth's unknown, althout his height be  
taken.  
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and  
cheeks  
Within his bending sickle's compass come,  
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,  
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.  
If this be error and upon me proved,  
Then I never writ, nor no man ever loved.  
-William Shakespear, Sonnet CXVI

* * *

"Sire?"  
Arthur looks up at Sir Leon from where he is sitting at Merlin's side, hands moving uselessly, in a manner that can only be described as "fussing", over the blanket covering his listless manservant. Because the sight of Merlin, with his eyes hazy and unfocused, too cold to even shiver, fills Arthur with the overwhelming urge to tear something apart with his bare hands (a useless urge, for the thing that he aches to defeat cannot be slain by any sword, and clings to Merlin, pulling him down into a place where Arthur cannot follow, no matter how he may howl at it to let go, but an urge nonetheless); an urge that he is fairly certain will come to pass if he does not keep his slightly trembling hands busy.

"May I have a word?"

Sir Leon's face and voice are filled with a tight, sort of graveness amid a firm resolve that makes Arthur painfully aware of the conversation that is likely to unfold.  
He glances back at Merlin, every cell in his body refusing to move away, fear (irrational, but try telling it that) of something happening to Merlin the moment he steps away filling him. A cold, hard sort of voice in his head mutters that something already _has_ happened to Merlin, and his being there hadn't prevented it, it had only ensured it.  
Seeing his reluctance to leave Merlin's side, Lancelot moves forward from the group of knights hovering behind Merlin, as though they too are worried about straying too far from him, and crouches down on the other side of him, nodding slightly to Arthur as he takes over Arthur's job of fussing with Merlin's blanket.

Arthur lets his arms fall back to his side as he takes in Merlin's face, pale with dark circles underneath his eyes; eyes that had for a brief period of time, in that _damned_ room, been frozen and staring unseeingly at Arthur as terror thrummed through the prince. He raises his hand and brushes it gently across Merlin's cheek, a part of him crying out in fear at the temperature of his skin; which he can only liken to that of the frozen corpse of a peasant from the lower town that his patrol had found during an exceedingly harsh winter. He takes a moment to thank the Gods again for the slow rise and fall of Merlin's chest, before pushing himself up and walking, with all the grace and elegance of a stone statue, to where Sir Leon is standing. Once there though, he can't stop himself from glancing back again to make sure that Merlin hasn't disappeared, or that the slow rise and fall of his chest hasn't stopped, like it did back in that room; where Merlin had thrown away his life for Arthur's like it was nothing; no hesitation, no pause for consideration, like he had done it a thousand times before.

The thought terrifies him.

He turns back to Sir Leon.  
"We need to get him back to Camelot."  
Sir Leon shoots him an incredulous look through his obviously shaken and concerned state.  
"And abandon the quest?"  
_Good old Sir Leon_, Arthur thinks, _Ever the voice of reason_.  
He himself is rather far from reason; the relief that Merlin has survived overshadowed by the inescapable truth that Merlin, his manservant, his (though he couldn't bring himself to acknowledge it yet) friend, the one person that is always by his side, is _dying_.

"He saved my life," Arthur says, trying to stop the memory of Merlin's brave endeavor and the moment his own heart stopped beating from forming a lump in his throat. "I won't let him die." If only because the very idea of a world without Merlin, without tepid bath water, failed hunting trips, snide remarks, friendly banter, warms smiles, crinkling blue eyes, and heartfelt laughter was…unacceptable.  
"Sire," Sir Leon insists, "If we don't get to the isle of the blessed, hundreds more will perish."  
Arthur has to stop himself from biting out that he _knows_ what will happen if they do not complete this quest. He knows what he has to do, the decision that logic dictates he must make for the sake of his Kingdom and his people; for the love of Camelot. He knows his duty, and he can't allow his people to die when he could have done something about it. But these facts and this knowledge can't stop the traitorous voice from whispering so insidiously in his mind:

_"Yes, but _Merlin_ wouldn't be one of them."_

"Arthur."

The weak, strangled voice breaks Arthur out of his thoughts and tugs him towards it as though he is chained to it, bringing him back to Merlin's side in an instant.  
"Merlin." He says, his hands back to moving uselessly over his manservant's form before finally settling on his shoulders, fingers digging in far too tightly to be comfortable; and the fact that Merlin doesn't seem to notice does nothing to calm his nerves. The knights have all rushed to Merlin's side as well, and Arthur clamps down on the slightly hysterical part of him that wants to order them all to move away so that Merlin can _breathe_. "How are you feeling?"

Merlin's eyes, far away but somehow still bright, stare desperately into his. "Take…" He draws in another dangerously short breath. "Take me with you, please."  
Arthur feels his whole body tighten and his fingers clench even tighter around Merlin's shoulder at his stupid, _stupid_, (but totally _Mer_lin) request.  
"Don't be such a clotpole, Merlin." He says, stuffing his voice full of false cheer until it cracks around the edges, heart threatening to stop again as he realizes what Merlin is offering. "You'll die if you come with us."  
Merlin's eyes stare into him, and as he looks back into them he imagines that he can see them slowly dying; see _Merlin_ slowly dying and being torn away from him.

"I'm...going to die anyway Arthur." Merlin rasps out, struggling for air. "You heard Gaius, no one's…ever survived the touch—"  
"Gaius has been wrong before." Arthur cuts him off, though he can't come up with an example to back his statement, and feels his gut twist with hopelessness as it recognizes the cruel reality that his mind refuses to.  
Merlin's eyes flicker briefly and Arthur wants to shout at him for tiring himself out like this; how is he supposed to _save_ Merlin if Merlin just _gives up_?

"Arthur."

"You're not going to die." Arthur says harshly, voice wavering slightly as fear pounds through his veins. "Do you understand me? You can't—" Arthur cuts himself off, shaking his head, unable to speak coherently around the lump in his throat, and then chuckles humorlessly. "I didn't realize you were this desperate for a day off."  
"Arthur," Merlin insists, and _Gods_, Arthur wonders, _has there ever been a time when he's just shut up and done as he's told? _ "You know it makes sense. You have a people to protect, a Kingdom to rule." His lips give the barest of twitches in what Arthur is fairly sure is an attempt at a smile. "You may be a total dollophead, but you're a pretty decent prince, and I know you'll be a great King." He draws in another short, shuddering breath. "Let me take your place, please."  
Arthur shakes his head again, heart pounding viciously in his ears. "Merlin—"

"Take your place? What's he talking about?" Gwaine asks, worry, confusion and frustration making his voice hard. Arthur glances over at him and the rest of the knights, wearing expressions of equal worry and confusion, and feels his heart drop.  
"Arthur?" Lancelot, _brave, noble, Lancelot_, asks. "What does he mean?"  
And this, this was exactly the conversation he had been hoping to avoid.  
He drops his gaze from them and stares over Merlin's shoulder, focusing on the ruined wall of the castle as he speaks, so he doesn't have to meet their eyes.

"Before we left Camelot, Gauis informed me that the veil requires a blood sacrifice to repair it." He knows that the knights, baring Gwaine, (but then again, it's _Gwaine_) are becoming well aware of where his next words are heading. "Once we get to the isle I intend to offer myself up as payment."  
"Sire—" Leon says, shock coloring his tone.  
"And when exactly were you planning on telling us this, princess?" Gwaine asks, voice unusually harsh.  
Arthur sighs. "I was hoping that I wouldn't have to."  
"Arthur," Elyan says, eyes wide, and utterly incredulous, "How could you—"  
"It is my duty to protect Camelot and it's citizens." Arthur says swiftly, raising his gaze to meet Elyan's. "If a sacrifice has to be made, than I am duty bound to make it myself—"  
"Your duty," Sir Leon cuts in harshly, "Is, as you said, to protect Camelot and it's citizens, which can hardly be accomplished if you yourself are dead."

"Arthur…" Merlin rasps again and Arthur feels as though he is being attacked from all sides. "You know it makes sense; my death will come either way. What's the point of both of us dying? And besides, what is the life of a servant compared to that of a Prince?"

_But you're not just a servant! _Arthur wants to scream, panic pooling in his chest at the thought of the light in Merlin's eyes being snuffed out before him just because the court, the council, his uncle, his _father_ decided that he was worthless compared to Arthur. _You're _Mer_lin! You cry over Unicorns, for Gods sake, you hate hunting, and you spend _days_ on end in the tavern; and you risk your life for mine on quests like this, that you shouldn't even _be_ on in the first place. You should be back at Camelot, making sure that my rooms are clean and that my spare boots are polished. The most dangerous thing that you should have to deal with should be a rat in my room, or Gauis's foul-tasting potions. Stop asking…  
_

_Stop asking me to let you kill yourself for me._

"Merlin; quit joking around." Gwaine says suddenly, pushing past Lancelot to clasp Merlin's shoulder, forcing a smile onto his face. "Once we get you back to Gaius, he'll figure out a way to fix you up and we'll come up with a new plan to defeat these Dorocha bastards." He gives Merlin's shoulder a little shake, and lets out a brittle laugh. "Don't you remember what I told you? None of these noble types are worth dying for."  
Merlin fixes him with a steady gaze. "Yeah…but you also said that maybe Arthur was worth dying for. And you were right," The corners of Merlin's mouth pull up at that, eyes full of a conviction and certainty that are overwhelmingly strong compared to his frail body. "He is."

"Merlin." Lancelot says, and Merlin flicks his eyes over to him with a tremendous amount of effort. "The longer we wait, the more people will die. You know it's the only way." He casts his gaze over the rest of the knights, before settling on Gwaine again. "You all do."  
"You're asking us," Arthur begins, his voice cracked right through the middle in an imitation of his heart. "To lead you, like a cattle to slaughter and watch as you give yourself up for us." _For me.  
_"I'm asking you," Merlin croaks out, the effort of talking for so long taking it's toll. "To let my death have some meaning, to let me help you protect Camelot; _please_."

"He's right." Sir Leon says, drawing the attention of the whole group. He meets Arthur's harsh gaze steadily. "The longer we wait, the more our citizens will suffer at the hands of the Dorocha." He clenches his hands against his side, forcing himself to voice what they all are so painfully aware of. "The chances of Merlin making it back to Camelot are low, and the chances of Gauis being able to do something about his condition are even lower." He draws in a deep breath. "If a blood sacrifice has to be made at the isle of the blessed, than Merlin is the most reasonable candidate."

"You _want_ us," Gwaine says, his voice stuffed full to the breaking point of disbelief, "To throw Merlin to the wolves because the princess here didn't have the foresight to come up with a better plan than falling on his own sword?"  
Arthur clenches his jaw and tightens his grip on Merlin, but doesn't say anything because, as the guilt and fear currently drowning him dictate, Gwaine's harsh words are filled with as much truth as they are animosity.

"Gwaine, please." Merlin breathes out even as he struggles to take in another, and Gwaine clenches his jaw, standing up abruptly and marching away into the ruined hallways of the castle, Percival and Elyan following shortly after him, with the both of them wearing equal expressions of frustration and reined in anger doused with grief.  
Lancelot rises from the Merlin's side, his form already wracked with sorrow and Arthur wants to shout at him for giving up so easily, for not yelling at Arthur and Leon and taking Merlin away from the both of them and to safety.  
"I'll go prepare the horses." He says, his voice steady, somber, and slightly hushed; as though he standing around somebody's deathbed, and Arthur wants to punch him.

* * *

When they ride out, Arthur wants to ride at Merlin's side, but Gwaine and Lancelot quickly flank both of his sides, leaving Arthur to ride ahead with the others.  
He tries to ignore Gwaine's burning gaze on his back, Lancelot's somber nature, Percival, Elyan and Leons's heavy silence and works on shoving down the memory of the night before with little to no success; he finds himself watching in slow motion as Merlin pushes past him, shoving him back to the ground and throwing himself at the screaming creature. He sees him, suspended in the air for a moment, before he is thrown back against the wall with a sickening thud that spikes panic throughout Arthur's heart, and falls onto the unforgiving ground.

He bites his cheek, trying to swallow down the order to turn around, to ride back to the Camelot this instance. The reality that Merlin's death comes steadily closer with every mile they cross and every breath he struggles to take in enough to make his hands clench tighter and tighter around the reins of his horse to the point of pain. Damn reason, damn logic, damn everything and everyone that says Merlin's life is nothing compared to his.

So damn Merlin too, for thinking he can just mosey into Arthur's life, treat Arthur as though he is just another arrogant prat and not a crown prince, be the worst manservant that Arthur has ever known, save his life several times over and shake up everything that he believes in, and then decide to waltz out and carve a Merlin-shaped hole as he goes; with the sad excuse that Arthur is worth far more than he will ever be.

Merlin never treats him like he is worth more than him, except when his life is in danger. Then, all of sudden Merlin acts like it's his divine _duty_ to sacrifice himself for Arthur, to throw his life away like it's nothing. When to Arthur it's _something_, Merlin is _something; _seventy-eight percent fool, twenty percent manservant, two percent wise and a hundred percent loyal and brave, with an extra-unknown percent of him that Arthur _still_ just can't quite put his finger on. But Arthur knows that whatever it is, is an integral piece of the puzzle that is Merlin; a puzzle that Arthur has been piecing together from day one.

A puzzle that has no right to just disappear from right in front of his outstretched fingers before he can finish solving it.

He signals that they should stop to give the horses a rest, and they slow down and dismount. He makes his way over to Merlin to untie him from his horse and pull him down to get some rest with the rest of them before they continue; only to have Gwaine dismount from his horse and brush away Arthur's hands so that he can begin untying Merlin himself. Arthur notes amid his shock that his knight's knuckles are bruised and bleeding; as though he had a fight with a stone wall and lost.

"Oh please, your highness," Gwaine says, voice hard and unrelenting, in a tone that is totally unforgivable for a knight of Camelot to take with his prince. "Don't trouble yourself."  
"Gwaine." Arthur says sharply, feeling anger flare underneath his skin.  
Gwaine ignores him in favor of pulling Merlin down from his horse, who then falls into Gwaine, his head resting on the knight's shoulder as he leans into him, unable to even stand up on his own; arms hanging uselessly at his sides as Gwaine wraps an arm around his shoulder and tugs him over to where the others are sitting.  
"Gwaine." Arthur says again, irritation growing as the knight continues to ignore him, wrapping a blanket around Merlin and smoothing down his hair. Marching over to the knight, he clenches his fists and tries to rein in his anger. "Gwaine, I know you're upset—"

"Upset?" Gwaine laughs humorlessly. "Upset doesn't cover it princess."  
"I didn't plan for this to happen, for Merlin to have to take my place—"  
"He wouldn't have to take your place if you'd managed to come up with a better plan than throwing yourself at Death's door." Gwaine snaps back harshly.  
Arthur clenches his jaw painfully. "There is no other plan than this, no other way to fix this Gwaine, no matter what you want to believe—"

"Then you should have found someone who would have willingly given their life for the Kingdom." Gwaine fires back. "Someone besides a suicidal prince with a stupidly loyal manservant that has a nasty habit of throwing himself in front of said suicidal prince. Someone who'd already lived a full, long life and wouldn't have any regrets or people to leave behind." He clenches his fist and turns away from Arthur. "Surely, even someone of your intellect and influence could've at least managed that."

"You will not speak to me like that." Arthur hisses, tone livid. "You have no idea what it takes to make these decisions; to weigh the lives of the citizens of Camelot above your own and live with the responsibility of a kingdom on your shoulders. Do not assume that you have any right to tell me what I should or shouldn't have done when you can't possibly understand—do you think I wanted this to happen? Wanted to sit here and watch Merlin die slowly as we lead him to his certain death?"  
Gwaine responds by tightening his grip on Merlin, the action only serving to add more fuel to the rage churning in Arthur's chest. "You're not the only person that cares for him, Gwaine." He spits out. "I've known him far longer than you have."  
"He's been your servant for far longer than I've known him." Gwaine snaps, eyes shining bright with defiance. "But I'll wager he's been my _friend_ for far, far longer."

"Let's just all calm down." Lancelot's voice cuts through the red haze filling Arthur's vision, as he maneuvers himself between the two of them, a hand placed on both their chests to push them away from each other. "Gwaine, why don't you come with me to fill up the waterskins, I could really use the help." He manages to catch Gwaine's gaze with his own, and after a moment of silent debate, Gwaine turns sharply on his heel and heads for the babbling brook they can all faintly hear in the background. Lancelot shoots Arthur one last look before grabbing everyone's waterskins and heading after him. As soon as they are both out of sight, Arthur slumps down to the ground beside Merlin and after a few deep breaths, focuses on fussing with the blanket; making sure to brush a hand against Merlin's cheek after he is finishes and feels his heart ache painfully at the glacial temperature.

"Arthur." Merlin croaks out, grabbing his attention immediately. "Gwaine…doesn't mean…just upset." He struggles to draw in another breath double, his body deprived of much needed air that he expended so carelessly on words that he thought might calm the tensions between Arthur and Gwaine, that might soothe Arthur's anger and guilt. Arthur feels his chest tighten as Merlin fights for breath and finds himself struck again by how frail Merlin looks. His eyes have dulled slightly during their ride, and the red underneath his eyes has blossomed into dark bruises against his considerably paler pallor. (A feat that Arthur hadn't thought possible) It's as though Merlin is slowly transforming into the revenant that he will soon become, and the thought sends another thrum of agony through Arthur's veins and has him wrapping an arm around Merlin, pulling him against his chest and making sure to support his body so that he can concentrate all his efforts on drawing in another breath; in a futile effort to satisfy the urge to pull him close and never let him leave the security of his arms, keeping him far, _far_ away from that damned isle and that cursed veil. "I know Merlin, it's alright. Upset, huh?" He huffs out a laugh. "Well, that makes two of us."

"Arthur." Merlin rasps, tone racked with guilt.  
"Don't talk anymore Merlin, it's alright; despite what you may think, I am capable of surviving without your mindless chatter for a day." Arthur lies.

* * *

Merlin doesn't eat, and only barely manages to keep down the dribbles of water that Lancelot seems determined to force passed his freezing lips. He doesn't talk much either; in what Arthur realizes (with what feels like a cold hand tightening around his heart) is an attempt to keep all his energy focused on keeping his lungs expanding and his heart beating. At least for as long as it takes for them to make it to the isle. Gwaine remains unnervingly silent, talking in low tones to Merlin and Lancelot occasionally, looking like he's trying not to cry as Merlin struggles to keep his eyes focused on them and twitches his lips in an attempt at a smile. Percival and Elyan give Merlin their capes in a futile attempt to keep his body temperature from dropping. Arthur alternates between sticking to Merlin like glue and staying as far away from him as possible; caught between the need to pull Merlin close and _**safe**_, and the terror and pain that rips through him as he watches Merlin falling further and further away from them.

As he watches Merlin die.

When they are sitting in the abandoned castle, only a day's ride away from the isle of the blessed, Merlin's tiny voice, little more that a rasp of air, cuts through the silence and tension hovering over them all.  
"Just…wait…a little…more."  
Their heads snap up immediately as Lancelot places his hand on Merlin's shoulder gently, eyes dark with worry. "Merlin?"  
Merlin doesn't look at him, his eyes following something invisible to the rest of them. "Please…Will."  
Arthur's brow furrows in confusion, as does the other knights', save for Lancelot's.  
"Merlin." He says again, ever so gently, though he tightens his hold on Merlin's shoulder, as though attempting to pull him back from wherever he is. "Merlin."

Merlin's eyes flick towards Lancelot, focusing solely on him, as though the rest of them aren't there. "Lancelot." He croaks, "It's…Will…he wants me to…come with him…I…" He makes another desperate attempt for air. "I told him to wait…just a bit longer…that I'm coming…" He lets out a rasping sound that is most likely an attempt at a laugh. "He's…not happy…bout that…says I've spent…too much time with Arthur…as it is…says that he's waited…long enough…"  
Merlin swallows, unaware of the strained ears and attention that he has garnered. "Says…says he told me…that Arthur…would get us killed…in the end…"  
The words deliver a punch of critical force to Arthur's gut that leaves him winded and immeasurably pained and guilt ridden as a memory begins to stir in his mind.

_"He's going to get us all killed!"_

And like that, Arthur remembers a boy, the owner of brown hair, brown eyes, and Merlin's friendship, the _**sorcerer**_ from Merlin's village; the one that had summoned the wind and taken an arrow to his chest for Arthur.  
The sorcerer that had captured Merlin's love and care, been his closest friend and shared every aspect of his life before Arthur had even known that Merlin existed, that had likely enchanted Merlin several times over, as **Sorcerer**'s were wont to do, whenever Merlin tried to move out from under his thumb.

Hadn't Merlin spent too much time with the **sorcerer**, not the other way around? He had Merlin for nearly seventeen years, whereas Arthur has only had Merlin for five, (not _nearly_ long enough) and yet he still has the audacity to demand more?

A frightfully small, rational voice in his mind points out that the **sorcerer** isn't _actually_ there; that the fact that Merlin is seeing him is just a sign of how close to death's door he really is, hanging so precariously on the precipice of this world and the next. But Arthur quickly squashes that down, because it is easier to feel affronted and angry than terrified and wracked with grief. He stands up, marching away from the rest of the knights and over to where Lancelot and Merlin are sitting, intending to force Merlin's eyes to meet his; to order Merlin not to go with _**Will**_, to tell him to demand the** sorcerer** sod off and crawl back from the afterlife from whence he came, but stops short when Merlin speaks again.

"Says…I'll be **free**…" Merlin's hoarse voice savors the word like it is warm honey, so quiet that only Arthur and Lancelot can hear it, and barely at that. "Says…I won't have to worry…bout Arthur…bout…pyre…"  
Arthur freezes as Lancelot's grip tightens, his knuckles going white. "Merlin—"  
"No more nightmares…" Merlin murmurs. "No more dreaming of fire…of burning…of Arthur…burning me…be **free**…"  
"What's he talking about?" Arthur finds his voice asking harshly, even as his heart and body remain frozen.

Lancelot doesn't meet his gaze, focusing on the way that Merlin's chest is barely moving. He leans his ear against Merlin's chest to check his heartbeat. "Lancelot?" Arthur asks again, harshness replaced by childish fear.  
Lancelot removes his ear from Merlin's chest, face overwhelmed with a panic that jumps from him into Arthur, setting his heat beating again, a thousand times faster than it ever has before.  
"Gwaine, bring the waterskin." He calls out, voice shaking heavily, tone telling Arthur all he needs to know. Arthur is aware of Gwaine leaping to his feat behind him, but he is focused on Merlin's half lidded eyes, no longer the shining blue they used to be, instead like dull stones staring unseeingly ahead.

"No." He says, shaking his head. "No, No, No." He feels himself falling to his knees, reaching blindly for Merlin, hands cupping his pale, deathly-cold face and trying to make his eyes meet his, to make them see him. "No, No, Merlin, No, you can't go with him. You cannot go with him; do you understand me? This is an order; I am ordering you as your Prince to not go with him. You have to stay; you have to stay here with me, you can't just—" He draws in a shaking breath. "You can't just leave." When Merlin doesn't respond, just stares into the endless nothing that he's about to leave Arthur for, Arthur tightens his grip. "I won't allow it. Do you hear me? _**I won't allow it**_. I am your Prince and you **will** obey me." His fingers are shaking now, tears welling up in his eyes against his will and falling towards the stone ground below. "Merlin, for once in your life would you just do as you're told?" His voice breaks. "_**Please**_."

Merlin blinks, and his eyes focus on Arthur for a moment; filling up with such unmasked love and devotion, darkened (_so, very unnecessarily_, Arthur wants to tell him, but the words get caught in his throat) by a deep guilt and sorrow that makes Arthur choke back a sob.

"Arthur." He breathes, as he looks at him for the last time. "I'm sorry."

And before Arthur can say anything, his eyes dull again and fall closed, long dark lashes brushing against his pale cheeks as he lets out one final exhale.  
Arthur waits for him to take in another breath, for his eyes to flutter open again, for him to wake up; honestly Merlin chooses the absolute worst times to fall asleep.

"Merlin!" Gwaine's far away voice washes over Arthur's numb form, as he drops beside Arthur and begins shaking Merlin roughly, and Arthur waits for Merlin to open his eyes again with a laugh and declare it all to be a terribly (unforgivably) cruel joke. Gwaine continues to shake him, even when the waterskin falls from his grasp and spills all over Merlin, soaking his already frozen form and causing a stain to blossom across Merlin's tunic; staining Merlin.  
_Too late_, Arthur tells the waterskin silently, _I've already done that._

* * *

They reach the Isle of Blessed the next morning.

Gwaine isn't with them, and likely hasn't moved from the position they left him in, sitting next to Merlin's cold, unmoving body; still waiting for Merlin's eyes to open. He had only looked away to glare balefully at anyone who dared to come near, tightening his grip on his sword if that person happened to be Arthur or Lancelot. Arthur had wanted nothing more than to rip him away from Merlin's body and cradle the terribly cold figure against his own, and was stopped only by a tired voice within him that reminded him that Merlin, his Merlin, wasn't there anymore, only the vacuous body that was only the vessel that contained him.

Vessel or not though, it is still Merlin, his cheekbones, dark lashes and pale skin; just empty of the bright, shining warmth that it was _barely_ able to contain, and it takes a considerable amount of effort to leave it by Gwaine's side. But he is placated by the fact, that he will be seeing that bright, shining warmth soon enough. _  
_

Percival, Lancelot and Arthur enter the Alter room, having left Elyan and Leon to deal with the wyvern. The Cailleach smiles wickedly at them, gleaming eyes full of a hunger that would make Arthur's skin crawl, if he could bring himself to feel anything at the moment.

"It is not often we have visitors." She muses, her tone full of a sick sort of amusement.  
Arthur barely spares her a glance, eyes focused on the monstrous tear between the worlds, relief at the thought of seeing Merlin again overcoming everything else around him.

"Put an end to this." He commands, with infinitely more strength and vitality than he feels. "I demand you heal the tear between the two worlds."

"It was not I that created this horror," The Callieach snaps, mouth pressed into a thin line. "Why should it be I that stops it?"  
Arthur casts his gaze to her, heart yearning for the sight of Merlin's smile; he imagines he can almost see it, hovering just out of sight through the blasted veil. "I know what you want."  
"Do you?" The Callieach asks, her tone slightly mocking, but interested nonetheless, turning hard at her next words. "And are you willing to let me have it?"  
Arthur swallows; he can almost feel Merlin's fingertips brushing over his skin like they do when Merlin dresses him, a teasing grin playing on his face as he teases Arthur about the non-existent weight gain. "I'm prepared to pay whatever price is necessary."

The Callieach gives them another wicked grin. "But you've already paid your price, haven't you, **_Arthur_**?"  
The voice that speaks his name is Merlin's; sounding so very, very wrong coming from the old crone's mouth and Arthur clenches his fist as she cackles. Shaking off the fury, he begins to move forward, focusing on the thought of Merlin's warm smile—

Only to find himself pulled back by Percival 's strong arms and held in place.  
"Percival!" He shouts, writhing uselessly under the knight's immense strength. "Get off me this instant!"  
Percival doesn't respond, just clenches his jaw and stares straight ahead; Arthur turns to follow his line of sight and feels his heart falter.

Lancelot is walking towards the veil, back straight, head held high, noble to the last.

"Lancelot!" He cries, hand stretching uselessly forward.  
His _brave, loyal, noble_ knight turns at the sound, giving him a small smile and a mouthed: "I'm sorry." Before turning and walking through the veil, away from the alter room, from Camelot, from the land of the living, from Arthur.

But towards Merlin.

Arthur lets loose one more desperate, wordless cry as the veil between the worlds folds closed, taking the Callieach, Lancelot and Merlin's warm smile with it.

* * *

The ride back to the abandoned castle is silent, the loss of Lancelot adding to the suffocating grief that hangs over them all like a pall. Arthur rides with a disillusioned sense of the world around them, painfully aware of the loss of color and vibrancy.  
His heart feels as though it's been shattered beyond the point of repair, and every beat brings another wave of anguish flowing through him. He feels unbearable empty and alone, the loss of something that he never quite got the chance to figure out enough to inspire useless tears to his ears. He shoves them down and spurs his horse on faster, hoping that the wind will blow away all the feelings weighing him down and leave him comfortably numb once more.

It doesn't.

Arthur rubs his eyes wearily as they dismount at the castle, barely able to scrounge up the energy required to tie up his mount and make his way back through the stone hallways to where they left Gwaine and Merlin's body. Both of which are likely still there, and the thought is enough to make him want to turn around and ride as far away from this wretched place as possible. So when he finally arrives at the door to the ruined chamber, it is in no mood to deal with what he hears.

"Merlin, _sit there_ and **stay** there, you just came back from the **dead** for Gods sake; give yourself a little time to recover." Gwaine's voice is shaky, but full of an immeasurable relief that does nothing but bring another fresh wave of sorrow and guilt through Arthur. He clenches his fist and lets out a frustrated sigh. He can't deal with a delusional knight right now, especially if that delusional knight's delusions are centered on—

"You don't understand." Merlin's voice, weak, but not like that terrible, awful hoarseness from before, filters through the door and reaches Arthur's ears. "I have to get to Arthur, I have to—"  
Arthur flings the door open, creating a resounding crash to sound throughout the room and down the hallways of the castle; startling the occupants of said room and bringing running footsteps through the halls. Arthur doesn't care much for either, practically flying into the room, not stopping until his gaze lands on a frail, still pale, _but not_ as_ pale_ _**thank the Gods**_, figure with black eyelashes guarding shining blue eyes that light up with relief upon seeing him.  
_**Th**__**ank the Gods**__.  
_

"Arthur—"

Arthur runs towards him, dropping to his knees and pulling the _stupid, stupid idiot, clotpole, dollop head, cabbage head,_ _**Mer**_**lin **into a crushing embrace. Resting his head against Merlin's neck and just breathing him in _Merlin Mer_lin _**Merlin **__**thank the Gods**_. Merlin's arms move around him after a stunned moment of silence and return his embrace.

"So, nearly dying's all it takes to get a hug from you?" Merlin asks, his breath steady and _warm_ against Arthur's ear. "I'll have to remember that."  
The very thought, even in jest of going through this whole thing over again, of _watching Merlin die_ **again**, is enough for Arthur's arms to tighten around him as he nestles into Merlin's neck, his nose brushing over his collar bone.

"No." He manages to choke out, shaking his head and feeling Merlin's _wonderfully __**warm**_ skin brush against his. "Never again. Do you understand? Never. Again."  
Whatever his voice sounds like, it's even to get Merlin to pause, his breath faltering and Arthur is filled with a brief twinge of panic before Merlin's breathing returns to normal as he tightens his arms around Arthur. "Yeah."  
"Promise me." Arthur demands, body still shaking slightly.  
Merlin moves his hand up and down in a soothing motion over his back that calms him down somewhat, though it is his next words that allow his body to relax, finally.

"I promise."

And Arthur swears to the Gods that he will do whatever it takes to make sure Merlin keeps that promise.  
_  
_

* * *

Now, I know it may seem like there are some missing points in this, but rest assured, all will be answered in the  
sequel (which will be a Canon-divergence or Au I guess) of Series 4 Episode 9. I hope you enjoyed ^^


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